


won't you be my solid ground?

by pendules



Series: i've always been a dreamer [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>They're Jon Alonso and Luca Leite. They were born the year before both their fathers left the clubs they were expected to finish their careers with. They were born when other things started to matter more.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	won't you be my solid ground?

i.

Jon likes to say that he remembers the first time he ever saw Luca. _Which is impossible..._ Luca would start, but Jon doesn't like people refuting him. Not one bit. So he has this story in his head, this memory, and maybe he made it up, or maybe it's what he's absolutely certain _did_ happen, or maybe it's _real_. Jon never asks his parents, and Luca won't either. He likes to afford Jon these little things. Because, well, he's Jon. He's _Luca's_ Jon. And however they actually did meet, they've known each other for fourteen years and they've been best friends for roughly eight of those.

Luca feels like the luckiest person in the world sometimes, most of the times. But the rest. Well, the rest of the time, he's just waiting for the day that Jon will leave. The day that Jon will leave _him_.

 

ii.

Jon's not like his father. Not in the way he plays, and not in the way he _is_. Xabi looks at him, sometimes, and sees someone he used to know. Bold and fearless and _reckless_ , sometimes. He's optimistic, naive, _beautiful_. But Xabi worries. He always worries.

Jon asks him why he didn't go back to San Sebastián once. Why he didn't join the Sociedad Academy instead, like Xabi and his brother did, like Grandpa Periko would have wanted. Xabi says, "We had a home here already, a life here already, and you had friends...and things are different now than they were when I was a kid. And yes, it's because Grandpa Periko said it was okay too. You're a great player, Jon. Everyone can see that. It doesn't matter where you're playing."

Jon's only fourteen but he knows when his father's lying to him.

He wants to say, _Great teams collapse sometimes too._ But he knows that his father already knows this. He's seen him look at the tapes; he's seen the frustration that wore down red-clad shoulders into sad anticlines as they realised that it'd be yet another season finishing twenty points off first place; he's seen what happened to the team his father left a year after he was born; he's seen his father's regret.

 

Luca's not like his father. He's shy too much of the time, uncertain, awkward. (He's not innocent though. That's another difference.) He's less naive though; he's smarter. But he can't charm people; he can't brighten the room with a smile. It's not him. And he feels like a letdown sometimes, but his father never pressured him into anything. He knows he has to be disappointed though, that he's not what the world expected Kakà's son to be, that he was never brilliant with a football and never really wanted to be, that he was always better with books and words and numbers, that his best friend was accepted with open arms into the Real Madrid Youth Academy and he wasn't.

They've never argued about it. They've never really argued about anything. His father always says, "Life's too short to do anything but what you truly love." He says a friend told him that, _taught_ him that. Luca never asks who; he doesn't think he would want him to. But as he grows up, he figures it out. The thing is, he's not sure what he loves. He's never been sure what he believes in either. What he _believes_.

There's one thing though. He's always believed in Jon. That's all he's ever really known.

 

iii.

Luca may not remember the exact first time they ever met, but he remembers a surprising amount of the last eight years and, of course, Jon is always at the heart of those memories.

Sometimes, sometimes, he sees fragments of images from even before then. He swears, sometimes, that he remembers when his father's Real Madrid won the league for the first time. He remembers the smiles and the laughter and the roar and the fans – or he just remembers the _feeling_. Those are the times when he feels he belongs here the most. And those are the times when he almost believes Jon's version of the time they first lay eyes on each other. There are lots of things buried in the subconscious, and sometimes feeling can turn to images and then into memory, into _real_ memory. Luca's always had a better mind, but Jon's always known how to feel more.

Sometimes, he remembers the day his father hung up his boots for good. He remembers the phone calls and his father's voice being different than he had ever heard it and the way he had looked Luca in the eyes for a second before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He'd called Jon after that, and he isn't sure why for a long while. He'd said, "Everyone's sad, and I don't understand."

He's only eight but he already hates not understanding.

And Jon had said, "It's okay. It's okay."

Luca thinks that was the night he realised he couldn't live without his best friend.

 

iv.

Xabi tells Jon about Istanbul a year after he retires. Well, he tells him about everything else too – the World Cup, and Eurocopa, and Sociedad and Madrid and Liverpool.

He says, "I guess it's one of those things football fans think about – telling their kids about the great matches they saw with their own two eyes. But I didn't see this one. I played in this one. And it was the best thing I'd ever done. I don't know. Maybe it still is. I don't think you're too young to understand. I think once you love it, you can understand. Maybe you understand even more when you're young, because everything is magic then. Not just one night. But that one...yeah, that one was particularly magical.

"It's not always great. Sometimes, it's really, really hard." And he looks like he's remembering something painful (and Jon knows exactly what) but he recovers instantaneously and continues, "But the good things make up for that ten times over. And I am sure there will be lots and lots of good things. Much more than I ever had."

Xabi knows that Jon wants it much more than he ever did. He knows that it's built into every bit of bone in his body. It's not a choice. And there's nothing else for him. It's who he is. And that's why he worries – it's scary, having one thing define you like that. It makes you vulnerable. He knows it, has seen the proof in wrinkles and worry lines corresponding to every year without a trophy, has heard it in sad, tired voices over the phone. Youth, hope, optimism, they all burn out so fast. Especially when they are as bright as they are within Jon.

But Jon, Jon has always been stronger, always been braver, than him. He knows that too.

Xabi tells him, "You're going to be greater than I could ever dream of being." And Jon believes it.

He gets into the Academy a few months after that.

 

v.

What happens is: they turn sixteen without even noticing that they do. And without even realising what it means. Like most sixteen year olds don't. They're young, they're happy, they've never wanted for anything in their lives. But it's not easy. Nothing ever really is easy.

(Ricky tells Luca about his accident when he is about ten years old. He says, "You can have all the privilege, all the money and influence in the world, and it's not enough sometimes. Sometimes, God has other plans for you. And you have to accept it."

Luca had just nodded then, a little scared and a whole lot more intimidated. But then his father had ruffled his hair affectionately, smiled, and said, "I'm sure he has amazing plans for you though.")

Jon likes things to be easy, to be simple. And if they're not, he knows how to make them that way. He likes honesty, straightforwardness. Which is why in a hot day in June he has to bring up something Luca doesn't like talking about at all – himself.

"So, what do you want to do?"

"What do you mean? I thought we were going to see some crappy horror movie and then consume loads of junk food...or both at the same time."

"No, no. I mean, what are you going to do? I mean, we're sixteen. College is in a few years, isn't it? I mean, well, for people who are going to college."

"What? Why are you suddenly interested?"

"You're my best friend, Luc."

"I know. But."

"But what?"

"I don't know. I mean...I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You can do anything, you know. Your grades are, like, ridiculous."

"I— I know."

"So what do you see yourself doing?"

"I don't get why—"

"No, just answer the question. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know... I want to do this. I want to be here." Luca looks at him then, and it's kind of a plea, desperate, like, _Do you understand what I mean by that? Do you understand what I want?_

Jon just turns away though.

"I guess you still have time to decide."

Luca actually really hates him then. And he hates that. He hates resenting him. He never was meant to do that. He never wants to.

 

They say goodbye in the usual spot they always say goodbye. Ricky pokes his head out onto the porch to tell Luca to hurry up because he still hasn't even begun to pack properly (like always). Luca acts like it's awkward (like always), stares at the ground and mutters, "I guess I'll see you in a couple months." Jon tells him he's a pathetic sap, but pulls him into his usual hug, buries his face against Luca's neck and one hand in his hair.

Then he says, "I'll miss you." There are some things he only dares to whisper against Luca's ear, some things he won't look him in the eye and say. This is just how Jon operates. He's always honest, but only in the ways he wants to be.

Luca doesn't say it back, but always instantly misses the feel of him when he pulls away. Jon looks at him one last time like he always does, and then turns and walks away down the porch steps.

And like always, Luca thinks about the last time he'll leave. The time he'll leave for good.

(Jon is always thinking the same.)

 

Jon comes back from summer vacation in San Sebastián to find that Luca's hair has grown at an alarming rate. And he hasn't bothered to cut it. Jon is going to make fun of him every other minute for that, he knows. But he likes it. And he's not going to be a pushover, not this time.

 _Damn, Luc, it's already silky like a girl's. Now I can't tell if you're a boy or a girl from the back._ Jon's hair is carefully spiked up in all directions (he'll deny it till the day he dies, but Luca knows he's channelling the hairstyle of the new Liverpool captain, who he has a bit of a crush on, and not just because of his gorgeous left-footed strikes), but Luca knows if he touches it, it'll be even softer than his is. He likes the natural blond highlights in Jon's hair too, accentuating each spike. He smiles as he thinks about that, and Jon tells him he's a freak.

Sometimes, Jon asks him what he's thinking about (because that's all he does, think).

He wants to say, _You, you. Always you._

 

vi.

School starts again, and so does Jon's whining. Well, it's not whining. Jon never whines. It's more like a gruffness that he can maintain for hours on end until Luca gets frustrated of his stubborn silences punctuated by vague monosyllabic responses, and says, "Do you want me to help you with your homework?"

Another noise. This one means yes, though. Okay.

 

Afterwards, they're lying on Luca's bed, and he does that thing again where he says something he shouldn't, something they should be ignoring by unspoken agreement.

"Do you ever think about leaving this place?"

"What, you want another vacation? It's only been three weeks."

"No, I mean leaving for good."

And there it is. Luca tries to not sit up too fast at that. But he has to look at him, see where his head really is. He looks like his mind is far away from reality though, so maybe it's safe. Maybe it's one of those teenage fantasy things. Dreaming of escape, of freedom, of worlds without limits. Luca's never really known about that - he doesn't like thinking about the future very much. Jon's different - sometimes Luca looks at him and thinks that he's about to take flight, like even gravity couldn't stop him if he put his mind to it. He sees it on the pitch sometimes (more often recently - he's really coming into his own, and it's amazing to see that first-hand, but also scary, sometimes).

(There was this night that Jon broke into his dad's liquor cabinet, and with alcohol coursing through their innocent, thirteen year old, veins, they had ran and ran, laughing, for blocks and blocks. He remembers pausing for a breath and watching Jon ahead of him, never slowing down, never stopping. He'd just stared for a minute at Jon dodging lampposts and street signs and the random person, overgrown hair flying in the wind, and felt for sure that his feet would leave the ground at any time. (Maybe he's still waiting for that; maybe he's still in the dust, in the dark, afraid to breathe.) Years later, when people start talking and "Xabi Alonso's son" gets his own name, Luca will remember that night.)

"I don't know. Maybe. But where would you go?"

"Somewhere new. Somewhere I've never seen."

"What if you hate it?"

"I'd find something good, I'm sure. At least one thing. Something to stay for."

"Someone?"

"Maybe."

Luca wonders then if his heart can break loudly enough for Jon to hear.

 

After lunch the next day Luca finds him in his usual spot for cutting class. And he's smoking, which, okay, has happened before. But only when something's bothering him. He's pretty sure that something is how distant Luca's been with him since the night before. He snatches the cigarette from between his lips but instead of crushing it beneath his heel, he sticks it in his own mouth and sits next to him on the grass.

They just sit there for a few minutes, Luca realising that something's going to happen, something's going to change. He isn't entirely sure what. But he doesn't know if he can do this anymore. He just needs to— He needs to—

"Why are you my friend, Jon?"

"What? What are you talking about?" Luca knows Jon's frustrated, that he just wants him to tell him what the problem is so that they can go back to normal, to equilibrium. This is why he didn't push anything before; he knew Luca needed time, just like he knows Luca.

"Just answer the question. You could have anyone you want, any amount of friends you want—"

"Well, so could you."

"No. No. It's not. It's different. You know that."

"I... I don't trust anyone else. I don't want to get hurt," and it's one of those things he can't look Luca in the eye and say.

Luca wants to touch him then, his arm or his shoulder, wants to force Jon to look at him, wants to say, _I'm not going anywhere. But you can't either. You can't leave me out in the cold either. You can't stop letting me in. You can't expect the truth but hide your own._

"Well, you can't just say things and expect it not to hurt me either."

And then before he even decides to give it away, give all of it and himself away, it just comes out. "Not everything is as easy as you think it should be, Jon. Not everything is as easy as you make it. But God, this. This shouldn't be so hard."

"What?"

"Being in love with you."

 

vii.

It's strange sometimes, being them. Random media people still talk about them sometimes. (They're Jon Alonso and Luca Leite. They were born the year before both their fathers left the clubs they were expected to finish their careers with. They were born when other things started to matter more.) They mention their friendship, but quickly go on to discuss Jon's progress at the club or what either or both of their fathers are up to at the time. Which Luca is grateful for. It's enough being Kakà's son and, likely in the future, Real Madrid superstar, Jon Alonso's best friend. But for now, they're still kids, and they just want some normalcy. For a while. So they go to school; they hang out on weekends (mostly with each other); Jon goes to training and Luca goes with him most days; they holiday in San Sebastián or Liverpool, or São Paulo or Milan; they come back to each other and to their lives. Jon thinks about the future; Luca doesn't. This is how it goes. It's routine, and it's normal. It won't be this normal soon, Luca knows. Maybe he's started to realise that they're not eight years old anymore. Maybe he's started to realise that they're running out of time. Maybe he's desperate now. Maybe he'd rather things change forever on his own terms than on Jon's or the sport's or the media's.

"You - you can't just do that."

"Do what? I can't be in love with you?"

"Yes. I mean...you just can't do that. We've been friends practically our whole lives and it's just— You can't complicate things like that."

"Jon. Jon. I've _always_ been in love with you. Can you really tell me you didn't know that?"

"I— I don't. It doesn't matter. Maybe you can. But I just - I can't. I can't."

Jon barely looks at him before he walks away. Luca isn't sure what he expected. Maybe he expected this. But it still hurts. It hurts worse than anything he's ever felt.

 

He probably never expected this though:

Jon's throwing pebbles at his window. He sneaks downstairs to let him in, for what is probably the thousandth time.

"I guess you hate me now," he says when Luca's shut the door and they're both standing in his room.

"I could never hate you," Luca responds, quietly.

"Oh, shut up. I'm sure you do sometimes. _I_ would hate me sometimes. Lots of times."

He sort of looks down as if he's recollecting all the times he's been stupid or selfish or hot-headed and how he'd hurt people because of it. It's like he's scared to look at him at all now. And Luca maybe loves him even more then. So he can't help it. He can't help it when he reaches out to lift up his chin. He can't help it that Jon's momentary look of surprise makes him lean in even more quickly than he wanted to. He can't help it that the skin on Jon's neck is so warm and the short hairs at the base of his head are actually softer than he imagined and his _lips_ are - He rests the pad of his finger against the corner of Jon's mouth. Jon's eyes are falling shut (and he's so close, way too close) and his lips part slightly as he breathes out slowly. Luca can smell the alcohol on his breath and he wonders for a second where he got it and if the fact that he was Xabi Alonso's son came into play at any time. He almost laughs but controls himself, because Jon is right there and right now it feels like one of those rare and magical moments where anything is possible.

"Open your eyes," he says, and isn't surprised when Jon obeys.

He looks a bit confused though, like he's asking, _Don't you want this?_

"I've seen you drunk," Luca starts before Jon can say anything. "And you're not right now. You know what you're doing. You know who I am, and I know who you are. And nothing's different. Everything is like it was two days ago. I'm your best friend. And you're mine. And I want to know - are you sure about this?"

"I—" Jon blinks, and then he sort of smiles as he realises the decision's already been made, a long time ago. "I think I've been in love with you since you sat next to me in Math class when we were seven. You had those big dorky glasses and a gap in your teeth, but you still smiled at me and didn't realise you had chocolate on your face. I think I spent the entire class fighting the urge to reach over and wipe it off. Or, you know, lick it off your face. I think I really liked chocolate."

"You still do."

"Yeah."

"And I still like you. Funny how that works."

"Yeah. But chocolate's bad for you."

"And you think you're not?"

"I— I think we should stop talking now."

"Hey, you started it - _Oh_."

Jon sighs into the deep, deep kiss Luca pulls him into and winds his fingers into thick, dark hair to get him even closer.

They don't stop for a long, long while.

 

viii.

It doesn't change. Not much. Their lives don't. And they don't. It's always been there, really. And it's now slowly being discovered: in Jon's perfectly messy hair that Luca likes to grab onto when they kiss, in the curve below Luca's ear where his jaw meets his neck that Jon likes to press his lips to, in the slow press of hands sliding over each other's skin, in Luca's chin on Jon's shoulder afterwards, in Jon's arms wrapped around his waist, a perfect fit.

One of these times, when Luca's almost asleep, Jon brushes some of his hair out of his face and thinks about how hard it is to even try to leave this, to leave him, to go back to reality and pretending and hiding. It's like the entire weight of it, of all eight years and their entire lives and everything they've ever felt for each other, is concentrated in this exact moment. Or a series of moments. In every moment from that first kiss to forever. It's overwhelming, Jon thinks.

It's kind of like a powerful magnetic force, holding them together. Holding them together with memories and nostalgia and things that were never buried but were always there, at the surface, ready to overflow.

And it did overflow. This is the aftermath: slowly drowning in it.

 

*

 

They start drinking a lot more now. Maybe it's one of those things they think they should be doing, because of the way sixteen year olds perceive the adult world they haven't quite crossed into yet. Like sex and alcohol just go together. Like it's a rule. Luca doesn't even want to think about what his parents would say about either.

"I think we both know what football does to people. To the best of people." Maybe it should be harder now, but somehow, he can trust himself more to say these things.

"It doesn't mean to." And maybe Jon is drunk, tired, delirious, or all three, but it's probably the most profound thing he's ever said.

Then, "Nothing's easy. Not even the things you love more than anything."

"That's hard to realise though," Luca says softly. _It was hard for you, I'm sure. It was hard for me when I realised what had to happen eventually, how it would all turn out. When I realised who I was, and who you were, and that I'd love you forever no matter what happened. And when I realised that everything would always be harder because of that._

 

*

 

They lie next to each other on Luca's bed in the dark.

"Do you still want to run away to somewhere you've never seen?"

"No, not really. I'm pretty good with the places I have seen."

"It's weird that we've never really been anywhere else together."

"Yeah, that is weird."

"I want you to take me to San Sebastián and teach me how to pronounce the street names and the names of the food and... I want you to teach me how to pronounce _your_ name."

"But you already know that, silly."

"We can always pretend."

 _Let's pretend we're strangers. Let's pretend we're not who we are. Let's pretend we haven't known each other almost our whole lives. Let's pretend that the rest of our lives aren't charted for us. Let's pretend._

"Well...I want you to take me to Brasil. I want you to talk Portuguese the whole time like you can't speak Spanish and I want to..."

"What?" Luca asks softly, breath hitching slightly.

Jon's rolled onto his side now and he moves closer in the dark, face a few inches above Luca's. Luca doesn't move, but reaches up to grasp his jaw gently with his thumb and forefinger.

Jon leans down, and whispers, "I want to taste the meanings off your lips," before kissing him, lips parted and so, so soft.

Luca lets him kiss him again and again, and he thinks that if this is all he ever does in his life again, he'll be happy.

 

*

 

It's not going to last forever though. They both know it. They just let themselves dream for a little while. It's not an ultimatum, not a breakup, not some kind of twisted goodbye. It's just what they always promised each other.

"You wanted the truth. And I always want to give you that. Believe me. So here it is."

Jon pauses for a second and looks across at him. Luca looks like he knows what's coming, but maybe that's even worse. When he reaches over to take Jon's hand, Jon feels it's more to keep his own from shaking. He has to go on, though.

"I don't know if I can do this. And it's not... It's not about who we are. Or who I want to be. It's not about other people. You know it's not. It's just - we're sixteen years old. And I don't know if I'm ready for this."

He stops again. He tries to force the tears to stop flowing.

"I— Just— You know I love you. It's just really fucking scary sometimes how much."

"And there are other things," Luca finishes, evenly.

"It's not— I don't mean that—"

"No, no. I understand. I've always understood."

"I can't ask you to wait for that. I can't ask you to wait for me."

"Jon. Jon, it's me. I'm right here. Whatever happens, I'm right here."

Maybe he never realised that, all along, Jon was afraid of losing him too.

It doesn't make anything better though. Everything's still just as uncertain as before.

 

ix.

Luca tells his dad, because he has to. Because he's accepted every part of him, every shortcoming and every difference, and this - he has to believe he'll accept this too.

Ricky doesn't look surprised at all. He smiles this strange smile, almost reminiscent, and says, "You look at him this way sometimes... It reminds me of - Well. I never could figure out exactly what it was, but I guess now I know. And you're sure he feels the same?"

"I— Yeah. But there are other things. This isn't going to stay like this forever."

"I never told you this, Luca, but a part of me is glad you didn't want to play. It's not easy, that life. It doesn't stay still. Not for a second. It's unpredictable. People come into your life and then they leave, before you even realise it. And you leave people behind too. And nothing's ever certain. It's hard. Sometimes, I wasn't sure if I could handle it. And then it was over. Because that's how it works."

He smiles, sort of sadly.

"That's how it happens. It's a blur, a lot of it is. Sometimes, I try to sort it all out. I try to remember everything. But it's impossible. I remember the important things though, the important people. That's what matters - not just in the sport but in everything, in life - that you know what's important, and that you keep it close even if you're far away from it."

"That does seem impossible."

"You've always been too practical for your own good, son." He looks at Luca fondly, though.

But Luca doesn't look too impressed by that assessment, so he continues.

"You'll find a way. You're not going to be left behind. Not ever. He's not going to forget you. And Luca?"

"Yeah, dad?"

"I honestly don't think he'd ever want to leave you either."

 

Ricky kisses Luca's forehead like he used to when he was younger, tells him that he loves him always, and watches him go up to his room to call Jon. He feels his age, then, suddenly, feels the aches in his bones, feels the weariness behind his eyes. He decides to make a phone call of his own, to his own old friend.

"Hello?"

"I miss you a lot, Sheva."

"I miss you too, Ricky."

 

*

 

Jon wants to tell his father, but he knows he has to wait for the right time. And he knows there are other things he wants to tell him too, other things he wants to know, other things to work out. It's a complicated relationship, theirs, and it'll only get more so. But he's still his father, and he's still the one he'll always go to when he's unsure, when he needs someone to understand.

"Do you want to go back to Liverpool sometimes?"

"I do go back to Liverpool when I can."

"No, I meant if you want to go back more...permanently. And get involved in the club more or something."

"I..." He looks at him sort of surprised for a moment. "I don't know. I think the club's doing pretty well. That's what matters." He gives a slight shrug.

Jon knows he's always cared so much more than he ever really let on.

"Why are you asking anyway?" Because Xabi has to ask. He has to know.

"I was just wondering if you still miss it."

"I miss a lot of things, Jon. But you can never have everything you want at the same time."

Jon thinks that's maybe the best advice his father has ever given him, even if he himself doesn't know it.

"Thanks, dad."

"For what?"

"For accepting that."

 

Three days later he makes a decision. And that's when he tells him, too.

"I don't want to go to Liverpool, dad. Or Sociedad. I just want to be where Luca is. And I'm happy here. I'm happy at the club. I don't want to leave behind what I care about. Not like you did. Not like Luca's dad did."

"I care about _you_ , Jon. And if this is how it all works out, then maybe it all happened for the best. Madrid was never really my home. I think you could see that, even when I was trying to hide it. But if turns out to be yours, then I am happy. And I am so proud of you, whatever you do or whoever you want to be with."

"I love you, dad."

Xabi pulls him into a long hug then. When he lets go, he tries (unsuccessfully) to hide the moisture in his eyes and tells him to run along to Luca's.

 

He's on the phone and rambling on before he even realises it.

"He plays like you. Well, maybe not as complete as you were. But there's still time... But sometimes I see it in his eyes. Sometimes I think I made the wrong decision, staying here. Not coming back. Or not going back to San Sebastián..."

"Hey, hey, Xabi. Everything will work out. If not at Madrid, then you know Carra will be eager to snatch up another Alonso to play in red over here."

He wants to say, _It's not that easy. It's never that easy. You and I know that more than anyone._

But he knows Stevie's smiling, and he decides to it let it be for now. He closes his eyes for a second, and smiles too, remembering what it was like to step out on to that pitch in red for the first time.

He's pretty sure Stevie's remembering the same.

 

x.

They're sitting on the porch outside Luca's house. It's just getting dark, the first stars appearing like tiny dots against the endless dark blue sky. Jon has a moment of déjà vu. He's sure they've done this before - and well, they have, countless times - but he's remembering the very first time they ever did. (Maybe they'd been playing all day, videogames and race cars and the model airplanes that Xabi and Jon used to build together, and then when the sun was just going down, they had collapsed on the porch and didn't move for the next few hours. Maybe they'd skipped dinner. Yeah, he thinks he remembers that. And he remembers Luca's dad trying to be annoyed about it and failing, like he always did.) Luca doesn't remember that, he's pretty sure. They've always had different memories. Different things have been important to each of them. But the memories, and their lives, their paths always converge. They have always converged into each other.

"So, are you going to leave?" Luca asks now, and it's maybe not a real question at all. Luca has this way he flattens his tone completely so no one can know what he's feeling. It's self-preservation, Jon thinks. He hates it. Usually, it happens when his heart is close to breaking.

"I don't know. Not yet. But maybe sometime." Because he has to tell the truth. Because Luca will know if he lies anyway. And he might pretend he doesn't, but Jon always knows when he's doing that too. They've never been good at hiding things from each other.

"I could always come with you," and it's soft, unsure, even scared, all the things Luca's never allowed himself to be. But it's always been scary. It's always been scary how much he's needed Jon and how certain he was that he wouldn't be there forever.

"Yeah. Yeah, you could. But you don't have to. You don't have to do anything. Not for me." He wants to say, _You've done enough. You've loved me even when I was a selfish asshole. You've loved me even when I hurt you. You love me and I don't deserve it._

"I know that. But I always want to. I'd do anything for you."

"I'd do anything for you too."

Luca takes Jon's hand in his then, and it's all the reassurance he needs. That he belongs here. That it's all going to be okay.


End file.
